


Une crise en bleu - The Greatest Caper of All Time (or: How To Solve Your Emotional Crisis and Still Have Time For Lunch)

by timepavement



Category: Cookie Run (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Comedy, Existential Crisis, F/M, Heist, Inanimate Insanity Merchandising Tie-In, Tasty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:14:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29396796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timepavement/pseuds/timepavement
Summary: Roguefort Cookie reignites his passion. cookie run fic commissioned by wishfixerz. silly roguewich elements.
Relationships: Roguefort Cookie/Sandwich Cookie (Cookie Run)
Kudos: 7





	Une crise en bleu - The Greatest Caper of All Time (or: How To Solve Your Emotional Crisis and Still Have Time For Lunch)

Phantom Bleu, the most notorious thief and most debonair charmer of all cookiekind, was having a midlife crisis.

He had chosen a particularly strange time to have one, considering he was actually still in his early twenties. Though by his estimation, and he had thought about this, he wouldn’t be surprised if his lifespan didn’t exceed 40; this given his penchant for daring escapades and his blase devil-may-care way of life. Even for a master criminal as he could only defy the odds for so long, and it was only a matter of time before he ended up getting in over his head and playing out his grand finale. One true greatest caper to go down in the annals of time, a scoundrel of legend pushed to his absolute limit, a final page gripping the audience until the last punctuation mark.

Or maybe one day he’d trip over his cape and fall down some stairs. This was also something he’d considered. It was a much less desirable conclusion, but undesirable conclusions are what one draws when going through a crisis. A midlife crisis, to be precise. Now you may assume from the given prose that Mr. Bleu’s emotional dilemma stemmed from his below-average projected lifespan - this was not the case. In fact, the situation was quite the opposite; the risk, the danger, the life on a razor’s edge was the only life the thief found worth living. Where the crisis began was with a creeping realization: spectacular danger was becoming spectacularly mundane.

The Phantom (or Roguefort Cookie, as he was more personally known) had heisted from every bank and museum in the country. That kind of thing sounded great in a rumor told only in hushed yet excited tones, but in practice, it left the thief with very little left to do. It turned out that you only needed to outmaneuver a state-of-the-art security system a couple of times before it gets stale, and all the priceless and dazzling gems collected kind of started to blend together. A diamond in the rough shines brightest, but a diamond in a pile of diamonds just shines a completely average amount.

And so without his love for thrills and exquisite gemstones, what love did Roguefort have? And what life without love was there? These difficult musings rolled around in his mind like loose marbles as he strolled down a lonely street. This loneliness was strictly internal - the street was lined with a healthy selection of shops and restaurants, and a steady bustle of shoppers hustled about the strip. Roguefort took measures to blend in adjacent to the crowd, eschewing his signature flashy style of big hats and flourishable capes in favor of some casual jeans and a comfortable yet trendy hoodie promoting his favorite YouTube animation series. No one would recognize him as the great bandit, just as he could hardly recognize himself as such.

_Okay, maybe this is getting a touch theatrical,_ the Phantom thought to himself. Clearly, internally lamenting about his lost zeal and vigor wasn’t doing anything to reinstate said vigor or zeal. That was it, the time for introspective sorrow was over. Now was a time for action. Now was a time to grab what life there was and pull it closer than ever. Now is the time for rediscovery and rebirth. Now is the time for… for…

Lunch? Roguefort looked at the solid platinum stopwatch Cheesecake Cookie had unknowingly and involuntarily gifted him during a particularly fruitful gala. It was noon, and he hadn’t a thing to eat all day! That couldn’t have been doing him any favors; an empty stomach invites a clouded mind. And so, Roguefort penned the first step to his grand schema, _La Renaissance de Roguefort_ : get some grub. Using his keen and discerning eye for quality, Roguefort scanned the venue for suitable eateries.

Flashy, brightly-hued joints advertising impossibly good deals and suspiciously real burgers jumped out at his attention span like an unfed wolverine on a sleeping prey animal. With a tactical assortment of theoretical colors and bright lights to hold hostage the minds and appetites of those just looking for a quick meal. But Roguefort, even down on his luck, was trickier and far more clever than any marketing executive. Being a self-taught jewel thief had given him an appraising eye, and he knew such vibrant distractions were often fool’s gold, distracting one less keen from the truer, hidden gems. Even now, Roguefort wouldn’t stoop to the level of _fast food_. He had to go _deeper_.

Honing his heightened burglar senses, Roguefort’s attention fell on an auspiciously humble little venue, a ‘sandwich shop’ of sorts. A small postage stamp on the wide canvas of the shopping districts culinary offerings, this was a restaurant with nothing to prove. No gimmicks, no frills - as someone with many frills and more than one gimmick, Roguefort could respect the bravado it took to forego them. The restaurant’s sign didn’t even indicate a name, instead displaying a picture of a sandwich. It had a little smiley face, making it sort of like a little person who was also a sandwich. How cute. Roguefort had a good feeling about this.

The friendly jingling of a bell accompanied Roguefort’s entry into the dining establishment. The inviting aroma of finely toasted bread wafted over the seemingly vacant shop. It was late afternoon, well after the time most people would have had lunch, and evidently any sort of lunch rush which would have had since filed out. Any employees that should be manning the counter seemed to have made themselves scarce as well. _They’re probably all behind the shop, playing games on their phones. These food service employees are so thoughtless _,__ Roguefort thought, having spent his formative years in a gilded mansion and the majority of his life toying with extravagant riches. Roguefort would later learn the error of his ways in my sequel fic, “Roguefort Cookie Works a Thankless Retail Job.”

_May as well peruse my options._ The Phantom skimmed the bright and inviting menu, presenting him with tantalizing sandwich possibilities such as the _Big Bourbon Steak-Grilled BBQ Sauce Monster_ and the _Good Ol’ Albuquerque Tuna Fresh ‘n’ Spicy Melt_. These advertised sandwich concepts were surely adequate, as he mulled it over, Roguefort decided that these predetermined recipes were too pedestrian for his discerning tastes. He needed to make his own way; after all, he did consider himself a nonconformist, as evident by his… everything about him. Perusing the array of foodstuffs available, Roguefort’s calculating mind pieced together an immaculate scheme of a perfect sandwich. _Mmm, some of this ‘lettuce’ would surely suit me well… Yes, and a dash of some of their finest ‘olives’, perhaps. And then… hmm…_

As Roguefort’s wandering eyes made their hike across the restaurant’s counter, they found a rather fetching place to settle besides the cash register. A large plastic jar, filled with a modest amount of coins and a lone dollar bill. Under the store’s fluorescent lighting, the spared change glistened an enticing spectrum of bronzey browns and metallic silvers. While the amount in the jar wouldn’t add up to a quarter of the value of Roguefort’s monocle, in that moment it seemed more valuable than the sum of all the gems in all the vaults he’d ever pilfered from.

The esteemed thief bit his lip. Is this it? The big score he’d been hoping for all along? A part of his mind fought for reason, to keep this mark in perspective; it was just a few handfuls of change, it was worth a fraction of what even just his monocle was, et al. But in this moment, this brilliant capsule of time and space, that change called out to him like a part of him he’d known was missing but never realized. The two halves of Roguefort’s brain met in the middle for a reasonable compromise: this would be a warm-up heist. A low-level score to get him warmed up again for the thief life he so longed to long for again. Mind made, Roguefort set upon his mark with the swiftness of a shadow in a sudden floodlight.

“Hello, hello, valued customer! Thank you so much for waiting!”

Roguefort froze. Slowly turning his head, he noticed too late the absent employee had made herself painfully de-absent while Roguefort had been occupied. Occupied with jamming his arm inside the tip jar and scrounging around like a starved vulture. An activity which he was not able to finish, leaving him staring down the bubbly, fresh-scented sandwich server across from him with his body sprawled haphazardly along the counter and forearm lodged in the plastic vault he’d sought to breach. She had a warm glow in her eyes, paired with a sweet smile that only served to fluster Roguefort further. After dozens of break-outs and break-throughs, countless police encounters, and being cornered with no hope of escape more times then he could hope to remember…

Roguefort had never felt as trapped as in that moment.

“I just hate to leave a customer hanging like that… You see, I was in the back, on my lunch break, and instead of having lunch I was in the freezer! I was checking the meats, making sure they were all alphabetized and orderly. It makes it easier to find things when they’re efficiently organized, and maybe it’s just me, but I think meat tastes better when it’s alphabetical order too!”

The Phantom’s lip quivered, unsure of what to make of his captor. She’d caught him right in the act, foot in the bear trap, and yet smiled brightly as if he was any easygoing non-criminal customer. The sandwich chef cookie, which Roguefort had henceforth elected to nickname Chef Cookie, had a look of realization wash across her face. She hurriedly ducked beneath the counter. _Hopefully she didn’t just remember the number for 9-1-1…_ Roguefort weighed his options. He could take the cash and split, but Chef had already seen his face. And his face was not one girls forget easily. He had to stop her from getting the police involved. Even if it meant turning on… the Roguefort Charm.

Getting as comfortable as he could in his position, Roguefort lounged on the counter in a way that was debonair and enticing while not too overt. He tried to keep his jarred hand behind him, so as not to draw attention to his criminal activities and instead to his more flattering features. As quickly as she’d ducked, Chef emerged again, holding not a phone, but a tray of miniature sandwiches. Though she seemed to have grabbed them from beneath the counter, the sandwiches smelled freshly toasted and warm, the hearty aroma of fresh-baked bread tantalizing Roguefort’s nose and appetite. Oh, right, I still would like to eat.

“Sorry, I know you didn’t stop by for some riveting sandwich stories! Though if you are in the mood, just let me know… Anyways, my name is Sandwich Cookie-” I guess that name sounds a bit nicer… “-and I’ll be helping you today! Here! Free sample?”

“...Free?”

“Yep! Try one!” Sandwich Cookie raised the tray a measure higher, bringing the sandwiches of scents irresistible within grasp of her self-made hostage.”I’ve got all sorts you can try! Classic Italian, BLT, Mild Veggie Chicken, PB+J+J, Purple Stuff, Roast Beef…”

Free… Roguefort mulled the concept over in his mind. While he’d gone without paying for many of the most valuable things in life, he knew they were certainly not ‘free’. Something with a lack of worth, or at least, a lack of worth assigned. Could there be such a thing? Everything must mean something to someone, and meaning can be anchored in value. Especially morsels as divine-smelling as these… how could they possibly be merely ‘free’? There must be some catch… Some hidden price. Some snare trap that would entrap Roguefort if he dared indulge in the idea that he couldn’t just get something for nothing, but was being enticed to…

Gears turning into place, like the tumblers of a sealed vault’s lock about to acquiesce, Roguefort solved it. He was meant to pay for this food, and in a way that would have tricked him into thinking it was his idea! After trying one of these mini-sandwiches, he was sure to be enticed by the great flavors and rich nutrients these obviously gourmet breaded angels would deliver. And then he’d be inclined to pay for a whole sandwich! Maybe more! He may even be inclined to come back to this restaurant again, and again, paying his dues for this so-called free sample for the rest of his life!

Roguefort chuckled. _Well played, sandwich shop. You are a worthy adversary! It almost makes one question; who is really the thief among us, and who is the restaurant! Ha!_ Gingerly, Roguefort took a sandwich from the tray. Sandwich Cookie’s eyes lit up. _No doubt eager to see another fall for her devious bait._ “Why, yes, I think I’ll take this sample…”

“...And then I’ll take OFF!!”

Flourishing where his cape would be if he was wearing his cape, Roguefort let loose a miniature explosive of vintage cheese dust - his signature tool for a swift getaway. Sandwich Cookie moved quickly, shielding the remaining sandwiches with her body to ensure they’d remain unharmed. When the dust and cheesy stink had settled, Sandwich peered over the counter to find her hopeful customer had vanished. The only thing he left behind was a mess of loose change everywhere. (Roguefort had forgotten to take his hand out of the jar before running, and things just kind of resulted from there.) Sandwich smiled, and ran out from behind the counter and to the shop door.

“Enjoy your sandwich, sir! Come back soon!”

…

Roguefort sprawled across his antique velvet chaise. It had been imported from France, and stolen from Greece. In his hand remained his prize, his conquest between two slices of bread. He hadn’t paid much attention to which sandwich he took, but it had ended up being the roast beef. It wouldn’t be his first choice normally, but he could deal with it. Roguefort had yet to take a single bite of his newly ill-gotten treasure. He wanted to savor the victory well before savoring the taste. He’d in fact had half a mind to keep it in a garnished case with some of his most precious jewelry, but he knew neither his stomach nor tongue would forgive him for that.

This was it. This was what made the sun rise for Roguefort, what made his Earth turn time and time again. The thrill, the passion, the highs and the lows. Ambition steadily flowing back into his being, Roguefort began to dig into his sandwich. It was perfect. He didn’t know if it was the adrenaline in his veins or the locally-sourced ingredients, but he knew no food in the universe could possibly taste as good as this sandwich did. This was the greatest caper of all time.


End file.
